So... the concept for this story has just been at the back of my mind for so long and so hard that I was not getting any work done until I wrote it out. A Fairy Tail SI. Strange how so few of these exist.
Is this a Gamer Story? No. A Gamer in the Fairy Tail Universe would break it in half, at least, in the early parts of the story anyway. Gamer Mechanics don't quite mesh well with Fairy Tail for some reason, and though I was so tempted to make it one, I decided against it.
For now. Though, with magic, anything is possible.
Anyway - this is objectively the darkest thing I think I've written so far. In case that isn't clear - this is a dark fic. What were you expecting? It's me.
The Fairy Tail world is rich in lore that was never fully explored, and I'm gonna enjoy expanding on some of this here and there. So, without further ado... let the warning tags come in.
WARNINGS: Mentions of assault, gore, slavery, profanity, rape, sexual abuse, underaged sex, drug and/or alcohol use, mind manipulation, etcetera. You've been warned, and don't message me about this stuff. Seriously, ignoring your complaints wastes both my time and yours.
To suffer. To be thrown into chaos – into anarchy. To burn and to be burnt. What was it all for? What was its purpose? What did it all mean? To become stronger? To attain a value for greatness? Without evil, we would not understand good – but of what purpose was senseless evil which overwhelmed you – consumed you in a manner that prevented you from ever appreciating the good?
These were the thoughts that would have plagued my mind, had I been more focused. Instead, my focus was centered on the bloody blade in my hand, and the strangling, gurgling man beneath my feet. The weapon descended, the full might of my strength behind the blow, the knife sinking into skin with a strange echo of a dull thump. There was a noise in the background – screeching, I assumed. I didn't care, I focused on dragging the blade out of the skin, shivering at the feeling of the weapon sinking lazily out of the flesh, dripping with bright red blood. The scent of copper overwhelmed me, and I drove the blade down again – this time, to the forehead. It took more effort, slightly more than I thought, but it happened eventually, the blade sinking in between bone with a strange scraping sound. It went further, the long end burying itself deeper and deeper, until just the hilt was left visible. Idly, I wondered if I'd cut straight through his right and left hemispheres.
Just to be certain, I twisted the knife in the skull, rotating it like I was whisking cake batter, dragging the blade down to the side like I had pulled a lever – blood spurting out along with flecks and other parts of flesh.
I felt vindicated. Perfectly, absolutely thrilled. The adrenaline rushing through me might have had something to do with it, and the fact that the man underneath me was well and truly dead was another part of it. Still, it did not matter. I looked down, fully aware of the six bullet wounds buried in my chest. Medical services would not get here in time. There was no miracle that could make me survive bleeding out before that.
I stared at my body – so skinny. So strange. I would not have believed that less than three months ago, I'd been complaining about being chubby. I supposed being kidnapped, starved and tortured at the whim of a family of homicidal sociopaths would do that to you. Part of me wished I'd at least fucked the daughter before stabbing the kitchen knife up her jaw and dragging it across her throat. Of course, that was a pipe dream. With how weak I was, I would have never been able to pin her down and do to her what her father and brother had done to the three women they'd captured.
My knees gave up, and I almost cursed. The adrenaline was wearing off. I'd been fed nothing but dried bread and water for so long, it was a miracle I was even able to do this much. I almost snorted at the thought. It wasn't a miracle that I'd escaped and killed them, it would have been a miracle if I'd done so without getting shot six times in the chest. Or was it a miracle that I was still conscious?
I dropped to my face a small pool of blood gathering around me. Well, this was unfortunate. I'm sure when the cops eventually came, they'd lose their lunches after examining all the bodies. I wondered if I'd be cremated or buried. I wish I could get one of those Asian styled funerals – candles placed on a small paper boat – drifting into the ocean. Did that even matter though? I guess not. I was going back to where I came – to where I was during World War I and the siege of Troy, and to where I'll be when the last star in the universe collapses.
Living had been fun. I was lucky to have been born in the information age. So much I enjoyed – so much I loved. Ah… I would miss my waifus. My tentacle hentai collection. My PS4. But… I guess in the end… this… is… it…
Pitch black darkness. I could not claim to be fond of it. Particularly this variety – all-consuming. This was unfortunate – I had assumed my consciousness would cease after death. If this was what I had to look forward to for all of eternity – I would need to come up with a means to kill my consciousness. Existence would be a chore.
A voice. Ominous. It wasn't mine. It did not belong to any one I knew, or anyone I had ever heard before. I couldn't place it. Strange.
"I'm sure you're wondering what's going on."
The voice became clearer. It was female. Feminine, soft, comforting – somewhat. It was disconcerting. I remembered dying, hence, this voice – it could not be a conjuration of my imagination. No – instead, it had to belong to something else.
"I assume you are the being whose purpose is to take me to the afterlife?" I asked to the empty darkness, and there was silence.
"Your world's afterlife is uncertain. There is a fifty-percent chance that it exists, and a fifty percent chance that it does not."
Fascinating. Two words drew my attention. "My world?"
"Ah, yes. You see… numerous worlds exist –"
"So the multiverse theory is true." I interrupted.
There was a huff of what sounded like annoyance. "Yes."
I nodded. I let out a small hum. I closed my eyes. "I see." I opened them. "I assume you are here to take me to your world, or offer me a second chance at life, in exchange for some sort of servitude to you."
"…And how did you come to that conclusion?"
"For what reason would a being beyond my comprehension, invade into my world and speak with a recently deceased man?" I said promptly "You cannot possibly do this for every soul that dies. Hence, you picked mine, for whatever reason, because you are in need of me. Otherwise, I assume we would not even be having this conversation."
The voice sounded amused. "You're rather sharp."
"I suppose." I said curtly, "Although, it is mere common sense. I am a nobody in the grand scheme of the universe, I see no reason for a being beyond my comprehension from another world to take interest in me unless they possess a specific reason."
"So then… do you accept my offer?"
"You phrase that question as if my response has any merit on your decision," I said, "You are a god – or a primal force – or something else. Of what relevance are my opinions and desires to a being of your capacity? Why would my opinion play any role in the grand scheme of your plans?" I shook my head "That is like a man asking a cow if it wants to be reared for milk or slaughtered for meat. Of what relevance is the cow's answer to the man's decision?"
There was a slight stretch of silence.
"…so you believe, that I will do whatever I want, regardless of what you want?"
"Am I wrong in this assumption?"
"Oh, no. You're right. I'm just surprised – you're the first mortal I've met who actually realized that what they want or don't want is insignificant to me."
Mortal? Interesting. I filed away that information for later. "Most humans are too arrogant, or perhaps, to engrossed in their sense of self to realize their insignificance."
"And you – you're not?"
I hummed. "I used to be. But I suppose being drugged, raped, beaten, starved and urinated on has eroded most of that sense of self." I stared at my fist. "I suppose I only have enough left to prevent myself from being a pitiful shell, enough defiance left to refuse to be broken – just to spite my captors."
The stretch of silence returned, slightly longer than I expected.
"I have decided – you will be my champion."
"Very well," I said, "May I know what exactly it is that I am championing?"
The darkness twisted. It appeared as though one had turned a piece of cloth in space, curving and morphing it. The entrance slightly startled me, but perhaps, not so much as the appearance. Slightly pale skin. Long dark hair. White robes. Barefoot.
"My name is Eris – and I am the Goddess of Chaos and Misery."
The name was of Greek origin. The aspects she mentioned? Greek origin. I said nothing, instead merely pursing my lips.
"I see." I stated. "Am I to spread chaos, strife and misery in your name?"
She smiled. "Very quick. I think I like you."
I nodded, slowly. "Does that mean you picked me as your champion, because of the circumstances surrounding my death?"
"Yes." She said without missing a beat. "I will admit – I was impressed. I do not see such strength of will often. A captured man escaping captivity – and slaughtering all his captors in a cold, detached rage. You would have defiled the women and the corpses if you had the strength to, would you not?"
"Yes." I responded in turn, without missing a beat.
She smiled, her smile growing wilder. "Perfect! I feel Earthland will be far more interesting with you in it."
I did my best not to react. Earthland. Fictional continent? No – fictional world. Reference – Fairy Tail.
Fairy Tail. Magical world centering on a guild and its adventures. Shonen class – heavy on the battles and fights, low on the character development. Copious amounts of ecchi to which it gained significant criticism. Also gained criticism for the propensity of the characters to overcome any and all obstacles, regardless of difficulty or plausibility, using the power of friendship.
This immediately changed the stakes. This was not an omnipotent being beyond my comprehension. This was a being possessing powers prescribed to her and operating under the laws and rules established by a man, in this case, Hiro Mashima. A being most likely unaware of the fact that in my world, she would be considered an aspect of fiction.
This was not an omniscient being to whom I could not deceive. This was merely a god of Earthland. A being, to which I can recall, can be slayed. A being which possessed significant powers, but nonetheless, also possessed significant limitations.
There was no need to act as though I knew where I would be going. No reason to jeopardize my one and possibly only chance at a second life. No reason to give her doubts and make her begin to suspect my plans to eventually kill her and be free of her influence. Or perhaps I would enslave her instead? Having a god as a sex slave would be a welcome irony.
There was one thing I noticed, once my attention focused on her form. The skin, it was pale, pasty pale. The white robe, it seemed worn, frayed even.
She was weak.
Or, more accurately, doing this – summoning a being from another world – it was incredibly taxing, and weakening her.
Interesting. I'd need to do my best to slay her early.
"You've been staring at me intently Champion. Do I take it you like what you see?"
"Yes," I stated bluntly. "If I could, I would very much like a session of passionate sex with you. However, I am certain making that request would be a very unwise thing to do."
She blushed. A goddess… blushed, at me – a mere human, stating the obvious?
I would have scoffed, but I knew better than to do so. I was a fool for even once mistaking this being as being something beyond my comprehension.
"So brazen!" she said, before shaking her head, "But, you are of course right. No mere mortal can handle me I'm afraid."
"Once I become your champion, I will be no mere mortal."
She gave me a look I translated to one of contemplation. "Perhaps." She shook her head "Regardless – I think I've spent enough time here. I will now send you to the world, my Champion. Your goal is to spread as much of my name as you can – to spread as much chaos and inflict as much misery as possible."
Weak. Pathetic. Juvenile.
Chaos for chaos sake? Misery in the name of misery? A waste. A pointless waste.
"Of course, my lady Eris."
It mattered not. In time – I would ensure that this 'god' learned her place. Understood the art form of disaster, and recognized the beauty of what true misery was.
"My powers have certain… limitations… hence, you will find yourself waking at a much younger age and rejuvenated – but it will be in a place with a thick concentration of either misery, conflict, or chaos."
I rose an eyebrow. She wasn't even going to bother telling me the history of the world I would find myself in? Telling me about the existence of magic? The workings of Eternano? The political system? Government? Rules and Laws? Language and customs?
She expected me to learn it all by myself?
I never thought a day would come where I could claim to have more foresight than a god, and be factually accurate. This was more or less a glorified child than it was any form of extraordinary being.
No matter, it would make my goals all the more easier.
"Now! Go forth my champion! Go! Go and spread the name – Eris!"
I would need to kill her… really soon.
"We got another one!"
"The hell? Where'd this brat come from?"
"Does it matter? Just put him with the others and set him to work."
Voices. I noted them. Gruff, adult males. More than likely voices that belonged to the less than reputable sort. I opened my eyes. My surroundings came to me all at once. Dark, humid, and rocky. Dusty and uninhabitable. I was being carried. I turned my gaze to those who were lifting me.
A sharp breath escaped my lips. I recognized the masks. I recognized the robes. I recognized the demeanors and the staffs. How could I not? This was the moment – the scene that had written it in my memory that Fairy Tail was not happiness and sunshine. It was the moment that had made me shudder with the realization that fanatical fools would do anything in the name of whatever deity they desired. The moment it became common knowledge, that the Titania had been a slave.
This was –
The Tower of Heaven.
"Hmm? Did you say something brat?"
No. No. No.
I'd worked hard. I'd fought. I'd clawed and scraped. It took everything I had, everything I could give, just to escape my previous enslavement. Regardless of that – in the end – I still died. My efforts, accomplishment – meaningless in the ultimate fate of death.
No. I was not going to be enslaved again. I was not. I was not.
I. WOULD. NOT. BE. A. SLAVE. AGAIN.
"What the – gurk!"
I lunged at the slaver to the left. The human body was all I needed as a weapon. I forced my teeth into his neck, clenching with all the force I could, ignoring the bitter taste of flesh. I ripped lose, taking as much flesh as I could with the initial bite, red liquid splashing across my face and dribbling down my chin. I lunged in for a second bite without hesitating, my teeth sinking into what was either the larynx or the pharynx. I cared very little for anatomical accuracy as I forced my teeth to tear into the hard, rubbery flesh, as more and more blood splattered all over my face and into my eyes.
A slip in concentration. That slight moment of being blinded; abused. The slaver pushed me off him, sending me careening harshly to the rocky ground. His hands shot up to his throat, futilely attempting to stop the bleeding as he gurgled incoherently.
"W-w-w-what the fucking hell!" My attention was immediately spun on the second slaver. I needed to attack him before he regained his wits –
Slow. I was too slow.
The magical rod came crashing down on me. My body went numb, my muscles refused to listen; a legion of needles violated my flesh in the form of the electric currents that was sent rushing through my body.
"You fucking freak! Fucking demon brat!"
Again, and again, the electrocuting weapon came down. I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream at it – at him – at the sheer, utter insanity of this situation. My mouth was filled with the tangy taste of coppery blood. I had lost a few of my teeth in my attack. I was being punished with severe shocks of electricity. Despite it, I gazed up at the slaver with as much defiance as I could.
"F-fuck you." I spat. "F-f-fuck you to hell. Fuc – AAARRRRGH!"
Pain. It was strange. Experiencing it. I knew that I was in pain. I was aware of it – but at the same time, I had grown too accustomed to it. All my time in captivity had made it less of a horrific burden and more of an unwelcome visitor. I would be distinctly aware of the fact that I was in pain, yet, it would feel as though I was not the one present. As though I was not the one suffering. Often, it would feel like I was not in my own body.
Instead, I was in my room, sitting in front of my gaming PC. Skyrim was on the screen. A box of pizza was on the left, pepperoni, with the crusts cut off. A can of orange soda was beside it. The chair was soft – very soft, worth all the money I paid on it. On the screen, the Dragonborn was slashing away maniacally at a dragon. A few spells, and then a massive shout – FUS ROH DAH. I'd chant it along with my Nord character, laughing at the fun of it, and grabbing another slice of pizza to put in my mouth. It was fun. I was good. I was safe.
It never lasted long. The walls would peel back. The grounds would melt. The screen would flicker – and I would be back to reality. A needle injected into my skin. A woman with a pasty white smile standing over me, relieving herself on my face. What were the words she would say? I couldn't remember. They were always self-righteous in one way or another, at times, they would be condescending, overarched with a motherly or teacher-like tone. I think she had actually believed she was 'reforming' me for 'the good of society.' I never understood much of it.
I would go back to 'my room' instead. A different game: Far Cry 3. A different pizza – vegetable. A different drink – lime soda. It would last for a while. A brief while. But it would last.
"How could they… monsters…"
"… half to death…"
"…won't make it…"
Would this be a record? I wondered with amusement. To die the very day you are reincarnated into a new world. Such a feat would be notable – if not slightly pathetic.
Eris… the foolish goddess. Is this part of your plan?
This was assuming she even possessed the foresight to have a plan. The goddess of Chaos… it was more likely that she left everything up to chance, without any greater plan in mind. It would be the Chaotic thing to do. Hence, a goddess whose main domain was Chaos would have no need for order, no need for a plan. Strange though – Chaos and Misery. It was odd, as I believed that gods in this world could only have one domain? Ankhersam was Death. Chronos was time. There was also most likely a God of Fire, a God of Lightning, and a God of the Sky, hence the Godslayers.
Would I, then, become the Godslayer of Chaos, or the Godslayer of Misery?
I snorted. Both sounded so edgy.
"Rob-jiji! He's breathing!"
Of course I was. I just snorted – did I not?
"Ah! He's waking up!"
The sensations of tiredness and pain were gone. Mostly, gone. I felt weak. I felt hungry. I felt… irritated.
I snapped my eyes open and became distinctly aware of the children who were watching me. Red hair – blue hair – brown hair – girl, boy. Of course – the children of the Tower of Heaven. People who thought they understood suffering.
I laughed. Vocally.
It was all that was needed for them to scatter like deer.
Rob was old.
He'd seen a lot in his long life. He'd experienced a lot of things, fought a lot of monsters, saved a lot of people, and he'd done a lot of good. Inversely, to do so much good, he saw and combated so much evil. Yet, in all his years, he would easily say that he had never quite seen a person like the young boy before him.
He looked to be about thirteen years old, with pitch black hair, pale skin, and haunting red eyes. The eyes were a bright scarlet red, almost the same color as the hair of the girl that Rob could call his granddaughter, and merely gazing into the boy's eyes sent shivers running up and down his skin. It wasn't just the nature of the eyes themselves which caused him to be uncomfortable, but rather, it was the absolutely expressionless face of the boy which, when coupled with those eyes – made him an immediately intimidating figure.
The children were wary of him – which was to be expected. In all honesty, Rob had expected the poor boy to die under his grievous wounds. He looked malnourished, skinnier than even the worst slave they'd encountered. He'd been covered in blood when he'd been found by Erza and Jellal, and it was only after Rob had begun treating him that he realized most of the blood had not been the boy's own. His injuries, as they were, were mostly external, severe bruises, cuts and scrapes. The internal injuries seemed to constitute of a few broken ribs and sprained ankles. Most of the damage though, had come from being hit repeatedly with a blunt object – one which electrified him on impact.
Despite this, Rob had done his best to heal his wounds and bandage him. He however, was not expecting the boy to wake up less than three hours later, and laugh.
The old man had visibly shuddered as he heard the laugh. The mocking – satirical laugh. There was so much emotion behind that laugh, so much that it was terrifying. The children had all immediately rushed away from him at the laugh, and the boy didn't seem to mind. If anything, he had been expecting the reaction.
This was when he sat up, and stared around the room, his blank, expressionless face, coupled with his haunting red eyes made the simple action of staring one that appeared far more intimidating than it should.
"Ah –" Rob began, not sure how to start.
The boy turned his gaze down to his body, immediately noticing the makeshift bandages. They were made with the few cloth and rags that were available to them.
"Rob-jiji – he's scary." Millianna whispered behind him.
"Are you alright?" The voice had come from Jellal, who, it seemed, had gotten over his original fright. "You were really beat up. Old Man Rob healed you up."
The boy said nothing, instead, he merely turned his gaze to Jellal. He locked his gaze unto the boy's form with such intensity that Jellal was starting to look uncomfortable under it.
"You shouldn't stare at people like that. It's rude." He flicked his eyes over to the left, turning his gaze from Jellal to Erza. Rob could have sworn that the boy's eyes narrowed slightly, just ever-slightly, in recognition. His gaze locked on Erza, in the same unflinching manner, but the red-head wasn't having any of it.
"You should –" she moved towards him, stretching out her hand –
It was like some sort of switch was flipped. Rob would have called it pure instinct, pure instinct which made the boy grab Erza's arm, and then grab the girl herself, pinning her to the floor and twisting the arm.
Consciously, Rob had seen it. He saw the boy's expression and realized that the boy wasn't all there. He saw the way the boy's eyes only seemed to focus after the deed was done. How he immediately seemed to regain a sense of where he was and what he'd done.
Unconsciously, Rob did not care about any of that. He saw a potential threat nearly about to break the hand of a girl who he grew to care about like his own grandchild. Hence, he reacted in turn, rushing forward in a manner that no one his age had any right to. He grabbed the offending hand of the boy, and roughly pushed him off Erza before he broke the girl's arm.
"Jellal – no – stop!"
The blue-haired boy was already moving – rushing forward to attack. Rob felt a sickening sensation in his stomach, one which only grew as Jellal tackled the older boy to the ground.
"Don't." the boy's voice was surprisingly soft, and the word which came out brought everyone to a cold stop "Don't. Fucking. Touch me."
"You just attacked Erza!"
"She wanted to touch me. I dislike being touched." The voice continued coolly. "Now, get off me."
"Jellal, it's alright." Erza's voice came, she stood, slightly rubbing her arm. "I'm – I'm fine."
Rob could only rub his head and sigh at the situation. Jellal slowly disentangled himself from the strange boy, who then stood, dusting himself. He promptly turned to Erza, giving a small bow.
"I apologize. It has become second nature for me to attack when I feel someone is about to touch me. I did not mean you any harm."
Everyone turned to stare at the boy, and Rob himself was finding himself torn between being wary, or questioning the circumstances that would lead to such disproportionate reactions from simply being touched.
"It's fine." She said, rubbing her arm. "I'm sorry – I-I didn't know."
"No, you had no way of knowing. You should not apologize..."
Rob could feel himself sweatdrop, particularly in reaction to the boy's speech mannerisms. It was… almost as though a robot was talking. When taken in consideration with his expressionless face, he supposed that it was to be expected.
"I'm Erza." The girl said, "This is Jellal," she added, pointing to the boy who was still scowling, "Old Man Rob," to him, "And then there's Sho, Simon, Wally and Millianna." The four children were now exposed, seeing as how they were no longer hiding behind his back.
The red-eyed boy looked at all of them, his face still blank.
"…Jason." He said simply.
Rob would come to remember this meeting, or more accurately, he would come to remember Jason. The strange, emotionless boy who had joined them in the cells, another child slave to be used. Had he known, of course, the true nature of the boy, had he known –
Things would have been much differently.
I did not sleep that evening.
I doubted that I could. In such a place, to sleep was to die. Slaves were everywhere, slavers, even more so. Mashima was a fool not to realize the implications of slavery. He portrayed only the end – the revolt and Erza's escape, and swept everything else under the dust. The reality was far worse.
The simplest of questions espoused the dark actuality of slavery.
For instance, where did the slaves shit?
Excretion was a biological process which all living beings possessed. Here, in the Tower of Heaven, where did the slaves do their business? Answering this question would further reveal the nature of the reality. The slavers had no interest in maintaining restrooms or toilets, nor could they be bothered to create such a facility. Hence, the people shat everywhere and anywhere. Those who possessed some decency, would at least attempt to bury the evidence of their defecation where it could not be seen. However, they were many who cared little for that, and many who did not possess the will to do so.
This meant, most of the slave cages were disgusting, smelly places. The smell of defecation or urine would permeate thickly in certain areas, and this brought along with it, a plethora of more problems.
Where did the slaves bathe?
The answer: they didn't. Clean water was given in extreme rarities. You could not afford to waste extremely large amounts of the liquid on a full bath. That aside, there were no soaps provided. Similarly, there was no tissue paper for people to clean themselves after defecating. This was a place for slaves to work, not a hotel where bathroom amenities where given.
The lack of proper sanitation, coupled with the hard labor and revolting physical environments could only inevitably lead to sickness and disease. Bacteria and infections did not care if you were a slave. This then brought one more question.
Who healed the sick slaves?
The answer: no one. Rob, the mage, was only capable of rudimentary healing magic and basic first aid. That was it. Anything incredibly complex or even the basics such as a minor wound infection or a cold was out of his realm. This meant, of course, that the sick slaves would eventually either rot away or be worked till their literal deaths, in spite of their health conditions.
The slavers did not care. Slave labor was often appealing because of how little cost it required. All you needed to do was provide the slaves with food and water, and that was it. If they fell sick, it mattered little. They were replaceable. More slaves would be captured and brought in to replace the ones who died. Providing healthcare and sanitary locations would consume far too much of their expenses than they needed. Merely work the slaves until they collapsed from exhaustion or disease, dispose of the body, gain new slaves, rinse and repeat. Brutally simple and brutally effective.
Yet, that was not the end. No. It went worse.
The slavers were the type of people whose goal was to revive Zeref – a dark wizard. They were the type of people that had no qualms using child slaves. The type of people that could care less about torturing children.
Was I to believe, that these type of people would never fall prey to rape?
A single slave was negligible in the long run. A woman could find herself 'taken' one night from her cage, and dead the following morning, with the excuse given that she had been 'trying' to escape. Who would question them? Who would stand and call their bluff? Who would care?
The Stanford Prison Experiment from back home proved that humans, when given authority and power over their fellow species, would and could commit atrocities and feel perfectly justified doing so. Normal humans had been given the position as prison wardens, and they transformed into tyrannical and abusive beings. Here, I was dealing with fanatical cultists who had magical powers, ruling over a significant amount of slaves. It would be stupid to believe they would not do worse. It might not even be a woman who found herself taken at night. It could be a girl.
Had Mashima understood the implications of slavery and slave labor? Had he cared? Or had he just decided that Erza needed a 'dark-and-troubled past' without realizing the connotations behind it? Or perhaps, I was misguided in blaming Mashima. For all I knew, it could be that this world existed, and Mashima had been somehow linked to it, thinking that it was all his imagination and not realizing he was writing about real people and real circumstances. If such were the case, it would make sense as to how and why the version displayed in the Fairy Tail manga and anime was ludicrously toned down.
I almost shook my head. No, Mashima was aware. Subconsciously aware. From the very first chapter, the first episode, he knew. Bora – the fool masquerading as Salamander, he had been kidnapping women. Kidnapping women to what end? Clearly it was not to try on corsets and compliment their dazzling smiles. No, they had been captured because they were going to be enslaved. And pray tell what, did one do with attractive female slaves?
So Lucy could have ended up a sex slave in the very first chapter, had it not been for Natsu. Erza grew up a child slave, who could have been taken and raped to death at any moment without anyone doing anything to stop it.
It darker than I expected it to be.
"Hello my champion."
I froze. The voice was familiar. Of course it was. Irritation and anger filled me up.
"You don't need to speak out loud my champion – I am speaking directly to your mind."
"I would prefer if I spoke aloud. I do not want you having access to my thoughts directly."
"There are people around you."
"And what does it matter? At best, they are asleep. At worse, they believe me to be insane and talking to myself."
A chuckle. "So very true."
"You brought me to a tower of slaves." I said.
"I brought you to a place with the highest concentration of negative energy and misery."
"A. Tower. Of. Slaves."
"So it is." She mused. "I had nothing to do with the destination. And it is somewhat… fitting, or perhaps ironic, considering your past."
Fitting. Fitting, she said. I grit my teeth. Oh, yes, I would most definitely kill her. I would make it slow, and I would make it painful.
"You gave me no means to protect myself." I began, "No knowledge of this world. No understanding of its history or peculiarities. Somehow, I can speak the same tongue, but I am certain I cannot read or write the language. You thrust me into this world to be your champion, and you sent me in as an extremely unprepared thirteen year old. It seems more and more likely that you intend for me to fail."
"Now that's not completely true," she said "I gave you the ability to speak the language. I multiplied your reflexes by a factor of four. I increased your ability to take damage and your ability to heal from it. I believe this is more than enough, don't you?"
"No it is not," I hissed. "It is nowhere near enough."
"You ask for too much. There are limitations and rules you know. I broke more than a hundred of them just bringing you from your world. I'm breaking at least a dozen more just by communicating with you as I am now. Until you begin generating chaos and misery, refueling my powers, you will have to make do with what you have."
It confirmed my theory. She was weak. She did not have power.
"Alright." I said. "What do you need me to do?"
"Take control of this place, take all the slaves, and make them start building a temple in my honor."
"You must be joking."
"I am not." She huffed. "It would be the fastest way to regain my powers – aside from some ritual worship, or maybe some sacrifices –"
"What did you just say?"
"No." I repeated. "Not only is that plan ludicrous, it is unfeasible and unworkable. You would have me become a slave master just so I can feed your power and ego? You would have me do things I do not wish to do just for your eventual self-gratification?"
I scoffed. "What then is the difference between you and my former captors?"
"The difference is – I am the being who gave you a second chance at life. I am the only reason that you are still breathing."
"Then I would rather not breathe."
I became aware of the sound of crickets chirping, as the voice in my head went silent.
"What are you saying?"
"I died for my freedom once. Clawing, fighting, till my last breath. Do you believe I am unwilling to do so again?" I snarled "You underestimate me Eris. I was mistaken when we met. You are not an omnipotent being – you cannot control what I will do, and you would not need me if you were. You are not an omniscient being, because you do not know what I will do, and you did not know where I will land. You are merely a being who has attained significant power and an equal delusion to match."
"You DARE –"
"You are no less a god to me than a worm is a god to a termite."
Pain. Rocking, indescribable pain. I clenched my teeth together to stop myself from screaming out and waking everyone in the vicinity. It felt as though my entire body was immersed in boiling water, boiling water which increased in temperature every second. I had no choice but to turn to my hand, crunching down as hard as I could to muffle the strangled scream which was going to escape from my lips.
The pain stopped almost as suddenly as it began. I found myself wheezing – gasping, and panting, trying my best to draw breathe, trying to blink out the tears at the corner of my eyes.
"Now you listen to me champion," she spat out "I will ignore this slight on the grounds of you being slightly annoyed with the circumstances, and having a long day. However, there will be no more questioning me – no more fits of defiance. I am your God. If I tell you to jump, you leap, and you order gravity to stop and remain in the air until I tell you to get down. Have I made myself clear?"
I grit my teeth. "F-fuck y-you."
The pain returned.
"And before you start thinking that you can kill yourself – I own your soul. It doesn't matter how many times you try; I will force your soul back into your body again, and again, and again. You cannot escape this agreement by dying. You do not belong to this world, and you are not recognized by Ankhersam. If you die your soul will constantly return to me, over, and over – as many times as necessary."
I gnashed my teeth together as the pain stopped. Her recent declaration washed over me like a wave of cold water. I had signed my soul to the devil in the guise of an angel. A foolish decision – a foolish choice.
The advantage of all this was that I was essentially immortal.
The disadvantage of all this was that I was essentially an immortal slave.
Until I killed her.
Yes… until then.
Until the day I wrung the neck of a god and watched the light leave her eyes – I was a slave.
"I'll allow you to rest tonight and come to terms with your circumstances. By tomorrow, I expect you to be ready to fully dedicate yourself to me… my champion."
I was left to my own devices, on a cold floor in a stale room that stank of dried urine and constituted of snoring children. My mind ran. Ways, possibilities – options. The only way to attain my freedom would be to kill Eris.
How do I kill a god?
Godslayer Magic would seem to be the first option. However, Eris would never allow me gain it. It was impossible with her watching me. The minute I began practicing, she would know what my goal was, and she would become immensely suspicious and paranoid.
No, I could not become a Godslayer.
What options were left?
There were hundreds of different types of Magic in this world. Hundreds. None of them had the power needed to slay a god.
Alone. My mind supplied. None of them had the power to slay a god, alone.
Celestial Spirit Magic. Dragonslayer Magic. Titan Magic. Make Magic. Sword Magic. Possession Magic. Take-Over Magic. Devil Slayer Magic. Demonic Magic. Demonic Curses. Lost Magic.
With all of them, together, it would be enough to slay a god.
No one sane would ever attempt learning all these different types of magic. They would most certainly be consumed or die trying.
But, I was not quite sane.
And I could afford to 'die trying.'
I closed my eyes, slowly allowing them to rest. I knew what my purpose was now. I knew what I needed to do. It mattered not the method. It mattered not ethics or principles. I would do anything to accomplish it. A man fighting for his freedom had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Everything to gain for my ultimate goal –
To kill a god.